No Rest
by Cosmo-Donatien
Summary: Lizzie's week of vacation time is essentially hijacked by Red, who insists she needs to get more fun out of life. Cracky, Lizzington fun, as promised.
1. Day One

**Note:** This isn't out and out crack. There's some semblance of a timeline and loose plot while attempting to keep our favourite couple relatively in character, I suppose. I feel I owe it to you for 'The Tears I Gave You' being such a downer.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

* * *

**NO REST**

**DAY ONE**

Elizabeth Keen had started her vacation time as she meant to go on. Currently sitting on her couch, feet on the coffee table, laptop balanced on her knees, with a half-eaten tub of cookie dough on the seat next to her as she rinsed Netflix. She had resolved to ignore the pile of ironing covering the dining table and the dishes stacked by the sink, fully intending to spend her time lounging or sleeping.

Idly, she checked her online dating app. No messages. She had signed up after shooting Ressler down a second time after yet another terrible pickup line; while she didn't see him that way it had got her to thinking that she might as well try to meet somebody. She'd been on her own long enough since Tom left and Hudson was put to sleep due to ill health; she smiled fondly, remembering how much life her little dog had brought into the house. It all felt too quiet now. That and she was desperately horny half the time. She browsed through the members, only for the app to be swallowed up by the incoming call screen; Nick's Pizza. With a long suffering sigh she hit the 'Answer' icon on the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.

"Lizzie!" He sounded entirely too chipper for her liking.

"I'm on holiday," she said flatly by way of a warning.

"I know, I just thought I'd call to see how you're enjoying your time off." She said nothing. "Y'know, make sure you're using your time to its full potential," he expanded.

"Uh huh." Her response was non-committal as she scrolled through Netflix, waiting for him to get to his point.

"So," he continued, ignoring her sarcasm, "what do you have planned for the week?"

"Sleeping, mainly. I miss lie-ins." She sat up, setting the laptop on the seat beside her. "And dreams," she added as an afterthought.

"I had the most wonderful dream last night," he stated, waiting for her to say something to make him explain further.

She heaved a sigh. "Do I even want to know?"

"It involved you, me, a saucepan full of cocaine and lightsabers," he explained.

"A recipe for disaster," she commented dryly, biting back her original response which involved needing cocaine to deal with him and just what she'd do with a lightsaber if he was anywhere near her. He could keep the saucepan.

"I almost cried when I woke up, it was so beautiful."

"I'm sure. So I have to get back to my housework," she lied, wanting the conversation to end so she could get back to her vacation.

"You mean the Kardashians," he retorted.

"Are you watching me?" she asked, the pitch of her voice rising as she nervously looked outside the window.

"I'm not outside your house."

"How did you know I was looking?" she countered.

He chuckled, amused by her discomfort. "I know you well enough by now, Lizzie."

"Well... get out of my Netflix account," she ordered lamely.

"Oh, look, the parental restriction settings," he observed brightly.

"Don't you dare," she ground out.

"Have a good day, Lizzie!" The line went dead. She scrabbled for the settings herself, changing the password to something she probably wouldn't even remember in the hope that it would boot him out of the account.

"Liz Keen, one; Raymond Reddington, zilch." With great satisfaction she pictured the smug grin dropping from his face when he realised what she'd done.

* * *

Her phone trilled brightly on the armrest of the couch, right next to her head as she attempted to nap. She reached up with her arm and grabbed at the armrest before grasping the device to check the screen. Nick's Pizza. Again.

_Bored. V. V. Bored. _She sighed at the sight of his message and sat up, naptime ruined.

She jabbed at the phone screen. _And?_

_Want to go out? _The response came back almost immediately. Somebody was eager.

_And do what? _She was not in the mood for this.

_House party. Pick you up at 9 ;) _She wished she'd never told him the meaning of what he called 'bizarre punctuation' – his messages were often littered with winking faces, their bracket-smiles leering at her all too suggestively. Most of his texts were suggestive enough as it was. She didn't bother send a response as she knew it would be futile – he quite clearly had his mind made up. She dragged herself up to her room to find something to wear and soon convinced herself that going out, even with him, was a better idea than staying in and bemoaning the fact she was single.

* * *

True to his text, Red arrived at her house bang on nine o'clock. Dembe drove, as usual, to a house she would later come to refer to as 'the swish one' because she hadn't listened to him when he was telling her all about the owner; something about legs and then waking up naked next to a single slice of bread, she recalled.

The modern architecture and matching high-end minimalist interior made her long for her old beat-up couch and creature comforts. As Red whirled her around making introductions to people she'd likely never see again she quickly realised that practically everything there was laced with something illegal; she hugged her wine bottle to herself, aware of the regular drug tests the FBI required their agents to undergo. Red evidently didn't share her concerns and made a beeline for the lavish buffet, not bothering with a plate as he picked at the finger food. She set about finding a glass, rinsing it out in the kitchen sink before pouring herself a generous glass.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Day Two

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

* * *

**NO REST**

**DAY TWO**

Liz awoke with a start to find herself buried under a mountain of duvet, still in her clothes from the night before. She heard the unmistakeable murmur of a male voice downstairs and fumbled for her gun in the bedside cabinet; as she woke up properly she relaxed a little, recognising the voice as Red's. She dragged herself out of bed, wincing as her feet touched the cool floorboards, and the beginnings of a mild hangover made themselves known. With heavy, ungainly steps she descended the stairs, listening to Red's conversation.

"Don't call the police on the strange man passed out in his car." She frowned. "Is he still there?" A pause. "Well, look out the window." Silent again. "I'll have him picked up around noon, just don't approach him." He snapped the lid of his phone shut. "Morning, Lizzie," he greeted when she reached the doorway, though not as brightly as usual. He was unshaven and looked very tired.

"Morning," she mumbled groggily. "I didn't know you stayed."

"Nor did I until I woke up there." He gestured to the floor next to the couch where her cushions had been amassed into a pile. She would've paid to see him sprawled on her floor. "I can't remember leaving," he admitted.

"Really?" Liz blinked at him, unable to accept that he was not in full control of himself for once; he had eaten enough of the buffet and quaffed a few cups of punch, though. "You don't recall throwing cups at people in the basement, yelling at them to get out of your swamp?" She may have had one too many glasses of wine and made no attempt to drag him away, being too busy on the basement steps laughing her ass off at him.

He frowned, trying to call up his memory. "You see, I remember the swamp... but not the cups."

"You want some coffee?" she offered.

"Already on." A car horn honked outside, causing Red to wince at the offensive sound. "That's my cue to leave."

"Okay. Well, um, thanks for getting me out of the house."

"Keep yourself hydrated, Lizzie," he advised. "You look like hell."

"Says Beard Beardington," she retorted with a smirk. He smiled but she heard him fussing about his five o'clock shadow under his breath as he made his way past her to let himself out of the house.

* * *

Liz had taken his advice and drank mainly water. She had also napped for several hours on her couch, the cushions now nestled around her. As she browsed an out-of-date magazine, snorting at the tips on how to get the perfect beach body, her phone buzzed. She didn't need to look at the ID, she knew it was Red.

_How are you feeling?_ She was always a little touched when he expressed concern for her.

_Awake now._

_Plans?_ Far too innocently enquired on his part. He was up to something.

_What do you think?_ She wasn't so opposed to the idea, but she couldn't have him thinking she was gagging for a social life.

_Art show? It'll be fun._

_Do I have a choice?_

_Will be by at 7._ At least there was no smug emoji at the end of the text this time.

* * *

The party was enjoyable; the atmosphere was laid back, the art was nice enough – not too concept-driven, more figurative – and the people were more or less sober. Red accepted the invite to the after party before she had a chance to refuse and, not wishing to appear rude, she didn't call him on it. The man was incorrigible.

"Don't worry," he murmured to her as they stood in front of a portrait of a goose wearing a Regency wig; while technically very good, or so the arty crowd had said, the message the artist was trying to convey was baffling. "The food and drink will be safe enough." She saw Red looking at the painting; she had a horrible feeling he wanted to buy it.

"They had better be," she said, louder than she needed to in order to tear his attention from the beady eyes of the goose. "I am starving."

"Come on." He took her hand without looking, still studying the painting. "If we leave now we can grab something on the way." He looked down at her. "You need to eat, Lizzie."

He led her out of the small gallery and a couple of blocks away until they found a little pizza place. She gawked at him in his customary suit, though he was missing his vest and tie, as he attempted to eat the most enormous slice of pizza she'd ever seen without making a mess on the street corner. She wolfed her own slice down, realising how hungry she actually had been, and handed him her spare napkin eliciting a smile of gratitude around the pizza slice between his teeth. Her profile of him had been right in their first undercover job – he really was at home in any situation.

* * *

At the after party he handed her a drink. It was amazing. She sipped at it as she chatted to Oscar James, who was not the arrogant prick she had assumed he'd be at first sight. Red, swanning about chatting to everybody, regularly swept past to furnish her with another full glass, beaming at Oscar before disappearing into the throng of people once again. Was he trying to set her up with the handsome Mr James? The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that was exactly what he was doing. Maybe his latest project was to get her laid? She took a long sip of her wine and batted her lashes every so often; she wasn't complaining in the slightest, for once putting her trust in his methods.


	3. Day Three

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist of any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

* * *

**NO REST**

**DAY THREE**

She woke with a splitting headache, face down on her couch. She groaned into the seat before carefully turning herself over, her arm slung across her eyes to block any and all light from her eyes.

"Welcome to the land of the living," Red's amused voice cut through her woe.

"Quiet or I'll shoot you," she grumbled, turning her head to look up at him blearily. "Be nice to me, I'm dying." She found him standing over her, mercifully blocking the sunlight coming through the window, a glass of water in one hand and some pills in the other. He looked far too bright eyed. "I am not ready for your smugness today."

"Why don't you take yourself to bed?" he suggested quietly, wisely deciding not to bait her in her current state.

"Because that would involve moving more than an inch," she explained, rolling back to her original waking position facing the back of the couch. She felt her eyelids drooping as he moved to close the curtains and place the throw from her armchair across her legs. With mumbled thanks she pulled the blanket up and over herself before giving into sleep, pills and water forgotten.

* * *

"I don't remember much after the moose hat story, which was not funny," she commented, rolling her eyes at him for effect over the rim of her coffee mug. Red made the best coffee, despite it still being made from the same jar of instant coffee she always used it still tasted better than if she had made it herself.

"Yet you laughed raucously at it," he countered, a smile breaking out across his face. "Really, Lizzie, you are a terrible flirt."

"Tell me I didn't throw myself at him," she said, becoming serious once more; she really had no recollection of the events that followed the awful moose hat anecdote.

"No, Oscar came away unscathed," Red confirmed and she breathed a sigh of relief, though she should've known from the look on his face that it would be short lived. "But you did throw yourself across a couple hooking up on the couch and demand that they scratch your back."

"Oh God." She hid her face in her hands. "Did they?" She was mortified to see Red nod as he laughed at the memory.

"I like you drunk on peach schnapps," he stated once he'd recovered himself.

"Never again. Didn't we do shots?"

He nodded. "Fireball." It was just as she feared – she knew exactly what she was like on that stuff.

"What are we, students?" she asked rhetorically, shaking her head at herself. "I can't remember anything," she stated.

"Nothing?" he asked.

"Not a thing," she confirmed. They finished their coffee in silence as he filled in the gaps she had left on the crossword, occasionally mumbling at how she should have known the answer. After about a half hour he rose from his seat, picking his fedora up off the table.

"I need to be going now," he stated, moving to deposit his empty mug in the sink. "If you need anything, give me a call."

"Thanks for your company, Red," she said, standing to follow him to the front door. "It's been fun."

"As always, I love it when I'm right," he responded with a wink, though she felt there was something forced in his manner.

* * *

Red had been distant, leaving her alone for the day. She figured he was allowing her a day to recuperate, but still found herself staring at her phone too often. She sent him a casual message at one point, enquiring about his day, but he didn't respond; she told herself he likely had business to attend to.

Her only contact with the outside world was Ressler; she had been surprised when his name flashed up on her phone screen, once again thwarting her browsing through her dating app.

"Ressler?" she answered a little more tersely than she intended.

"Hello to you too," came the gruff response.

"What's up?" she asked, confused as to why he was calling her in her vacation time.

"Just calling to check you're okay." Suspicious, very suspicious.

"Um... of course I'm okay, why?"

"You uh... you haven't looked at your messages have you?"

"No, why? Oh God, did I text you?"

He barked a laugh in disbelief. "You literally spelled every word wrong or with numbers except for 'drunk' which you used all caps for, Keen."

"I am so sorry," she mumbled from behind her hand, which now covered her mouth; she was mortified, but her only other contact in that situation would've been Red and since he was there with her the exercise would have been pointless.

* * *

Liz showered at two o'clock in the afternoon, telling herself she was 'getting up for the day'. Wrapped in a towel, she perched on the edge of the bath to sit and check her phone; the action triggered a sudden memory to flash in her head.

"Oh no," she whispered to herself as the pieces began to fit together. Red was distant after she told him she didn't remember anything about the night before. There was a girl in the bathroom. She was vomiting into the toilet. They had helped her in there before she made a mess. Then they perched on the edge of the bath together... and-

Jesus tap-dancing Christ... she had kissed him. Or he had kissed her. Either way, lips touched. Maybe tongues too. She pushed him into the bath, he pulled her with him.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

His behaviour before he left that morning, his lack of contact throughout the day. It all made sense.

Shit.

Acting impulsively, she messaged Red and invite to dinner the following night. She had to get things straightened out before she worried about it so much her vacation time would be ruined.


	4. Day Four

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

* * *

**NO REST**

**DAY FOUR**

Lizzie woke late, which wasn't saying much. After texting Red she hadn't been able to sleep, trying to predict their conversation for the following evening. He hadn't even confirmed yet and she was still trying to cover every possible outcome. She'd managed a few hours before waking up, anxiety gnawing away at her, so she'd headed downstairs; she'd at least been productive and washed the pile of dishes by the sink before she'd managed to take herself back to bed and nod off for another few hours.

She had just stepped out of the shower when her phone trilled, signalling she had a message; she threw herself across the bed to retrieve her phone from the nightstand, reading the message as she sprawled in a most undignified manner. It was Red. She bit her lip to stop herself from squealing, groaning or throwing up; her feelings were mixed when she read his acceptance of her invite.

Still wilfully ignoring the ironing pile, which was now expertly hidden behind the couch, she decided to get herself out of the house. It took her about an hour to decide whether she wanted to shop or to go for a run, deciding in the end to shop first and run later; she had plenty of time, after all.

Her planned shopping spree turned out to be both fruitless and fruitful, in that she found nothing she was looking for but returned home with a bag of bananas. She'd grabbed her armband and set herself a playlist before heading out for her run, enjoying the cool weather as she jogged through her neighbourhood and two parks, not really knowing where she was going as she ran to clear her head.

Finding herself with time to kill on her return she took herself upstairs for another shower, worrying over what she ought to wear; she needed to dance on the line of dinner date and covert investigation. It was most certainly not a date.

* * *

Liz answered the door in yoga pants and a long sleeved t-shirt to find Red standing on the steps with a bag of takeout dangling from his left hand and a bottle of wine in his right. As usual he was dressed in a three-piece suit, a grey one today, with his fedora perched atop his head; she would love to know how many he actually owned and where he kept them all, imagining him keeping them in lockers all over town under different aliases. She returned back to the moment and eyed the food he had brought with a raised brow.

"Under most circumstances I'd agree to anything, but exposing myself to your cooking is an exception," he stated by way of explanation.

"My reputation precedes me," she conceded, stepping aside. She couldn't argue, she'd probably kill them both if she cooked. "Come in." She closed the door behind him as he stepped past her into the hall, turning to find him waiting for her to lead him despite the fact he probably had blueprints of the house at his disposal. He probably knew the place better than she did, which was saying a lot after the box-under-the-floor debacle. It wouldn't surprise her if he had multiple copies, one annotated. "Wine as well?" she noted, stating the obvious as he began to set the boxes of Chinese food out on the kitchen worktop.

"It's customary to bring something for the host," he explained flatly, surveying what he could see of downstairs from the kitchen. She was glad she'd done a sweep of the place that afternoon.

"You brought everything," she stated glibly, fetching a couple of just cleaned plates from the cupboard.

"Yes, but these are extenuating circumstances."

"I didn't see you lining up with contributions of hashcakes and punch for our last two outings."

"Those are not the same."

"I don't think I'll ever understand the bizarre social graces you seem so at home with."

She was pleased to find Red in a storytelling mood, though it made it more difficult for her to direct the conversation. He regaled her with a long tale of how he had narrowly avoided an untimely demise at the hands of a particularly deluded woman with a penchant for what she referred to as 'sexual torture' which had actually involved a jar of peanut butter and pink fluffy handcuffs; Liz had laughed so hard at imagining the scene that she was sure she had chow mein lodged in her nose.

"I'm so glad you find it amusing," Red said flatly, though amusement danced in his green eyes as he shovelled another forkful of food into his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, evidently anything but apologetic. "I'm sure it was a very distressing time for you." She pulled herself together. "However did you escape?"

"I managed to talk my way out of it eventually," he said breezily, reaching for his wine glass.

"How?" she asked, abandoning her interrogation idea as he was evidently not uncomfortable around her anymore. If he wanted to bring up the party, he would.

He shrugged. "She let slip she was having trouble with a Rubik's cube."

"What?" she asked, a little shrilly – the wine was having an effect already – she had been expecting some other reason actually requiring his amazing bullshitting skills.

"Yes. Quite unrelated to what was happening to me, but it was evidently frustrating her."

"What did you do, break free and bludgeon her with it?"

Red snorted and shook his head, as though the idea of killing somebody with a Rubik's cube was preposterous. Because a shower caddy made so much more sense. "I solved it and then, while she was distracted with the sheer joy of having the puzzle completed, I leapt out of an open window."

"Leaving windows open. Amateur," Liz commented.

"I still have those handcuffs somewhere," he mused, a faraway look in his eyes.

"I love how most people get nostalgic over partying all night with friends, or their old college days, and here you are getting all misty eyed about some psycho with bizarre fetishes."

"There's something memorable about running naked through a densely populated residential area, handcuffed and smeared in Skippy."

She ended up telling him about the brief conversation with Ressler, even going so far as to fetch her phone for them to attempt to decipher the gobbledegook she'd sent him. They sat close together and she considered broaching the subject of their kiss, but their conversation had been so easy she couldn't bring herself to make it awkward. All too soon they had finished eating and he was stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

"Tired?" she asked.

He nodded. "Long day."

"Business?"

"Mmhmm." Another nod. "Lots of loose ends to tie." Another yawn followed by several long, sleepy blinks.

"You don't have to stay on my account," she said. "Get yourself home and to sleep." She was pleased to see him nod in agreement and refused his help cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, steering him to the door; Dembe was around the corner in the car, as usual, and she didn't want the poor man kept waiting too much longer.

"How do you feel about a trip?" he asked as he stepped out into her porch.

She frowned, wondering what he was up to. "Where?"

"Trust me," he said with a wink and a conspiratorial smile before he walked out of the house.


	5. Day Five

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

* * *

**NO REST**

**DAY FIVE**

The small jet touched down on the airstrip and Liz thought she was going to die. The tarmac had evidently not been kept well at all, and she had a feeling the strip wasn't technically used anymore. It was likely a drop off for all sorts of black market transactions but as she had no earthly idea where they were – Red insisting it be a surprise – she didn't even bother to file her hunch away to be looked into later. No sooner had they disembarked from the craft and cleared the runway, the plane was pulling away to leave them in the desert. She began to panic, her hand moving to clutch at her wrist for her scar.

"Relax, Lizzie." He pulled a compass from his pocket along with a piece of paper. "Come on." He began walking purposefully away from the strip, apparently having found his bearing. Liz hurried to catch up, biting her tongue to stop herself from venting her anger at him; this was hardly what she had in mind when he said they should take a trip.

They soon came to a small campsite surrounded by windbreakers. There was water and materials for a small fire, and a box that she sincerely hoped has food in it. She loitered in the entry of the enclosed space until Red motioned for her to move in and close the gap behind her to stop the dust and sand from flying into their faces.

He sat down on the floor and dragged the box over to himself. Liz watched as he pulled out a large paper bag, not liking the knowing grin that was spreading across his features. She gave him a quizzical look, watching as he pulled out what appeared to be a takeout container; when he opened it, the penny dropped for her. "Navajo tacos," she stated, realising he was hardly going to be serving up escargot in the desert.

He nodded, eyeing the taco with reverence. "You must try one," he said, mischief flashing in his eyes, the sun illuminating the green in them. She was transfixed for a moment, just looking at him; he looked boyish, sitting cross legged in the sand with a tub of... illicit drug-laden food in his hands. Almost boyish, then. "Can you start a fire?" he asked absently as he rooted around in the box some more, pulling out some utensils and a large pot.

"Sure thing," she said and began to pick through the kindling for the best bits to start a flame with. As she worked on the fire he was filling the pot with the tacos, most likely to warm them through. It wasn't long before they had the pot over a decent sized flame and they both sat back, watching the fire – her because of the hazy memories of her past, and she guessed he was just transfixed by flames as all men seemed to be. "Need I remind you that I am required to take regular drug tests for work?" she pointed out sweetly.

"I can take care of that for you," he said, shrugging. Judging by the disapproving look he was giving her she guessed her face betrayed her doubt. "I can handle it, Lizzie, it'll be foolproof," he assured. She shifted awkwardly where she sat, questing fingertips searching for her scar.

"I really don't-"

"It's your vacation. I'd like to think you'd want to fill it with new and exciting experiences rather than spending it lounging on the couch," he pointed out, a knowing smile on his face. She wanted to counter and say she was more than happy to spend a week on the couch eating junk food with the laptop balanced on her stomach, but knew that sort of stubbornness would get her nowhere with him.

"Fine, but when you have a vacation I get to hijack it like you've hijacked mine," she said.

"There isn't enough on Netflix to keep me entertained, Lizzie, you'll have to do better than that." He reached into the box and pulled out a smaller tub, handing it to her. She took a deep breath, readying herself for what was to come. She may as well have lost her mind, agreeing to get high in the desert with Red. He took the lid off the pot and lifted a couple of the tacos out, dropping one into her tub. She'd heard so many stories from him, especially in the past few days, that she really wanted to know how it felt to relinquish a little control. She needed to let go. Watching each other, they bit into their tacos, smiling at the bizarre circumstance; even Red seemed a little weirded out by the whole situation.

* * *

They were lying on their backs in the camp, staring at the blue-orange sky, having just had their legs in the air to 'walk' on the clouds as they passed by overhead. Red had sparked up a joint and seemed quite at home in the sand.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Honestly?"

"Yeah," he replied after a beat, exhaling a plume of white smoke that blew straight into her face in the slight breeze that had picked up.

"I feel like getting high and playing with weapons."

"Well I am definitely halfway there," he stated. "You have some catching up to do."

She turned her head to look at him. "But the taco-"

"Was particularly weak," he finished for her. "You're just a little more relaxed right now, Lizzie." He held the spliff out to her. "Here, try this." She took it, twiddling it between her fingers before taking a toke; she coughed a little on the exhale, ignoring his chuckle.

"I haven't smoked in years." She handed the blunt back to him and laughed at herself and the situation she found herself in. He rolled on to his side to observe her mirth. "I cannot believe I am here, in the middle of a desert, getting high with you."

"You have a lot of friends that do this?"

"Point taken," she conceded, enjoying the toothy smile he was giving her, appreciating the rare sight of such an unguarded Red.

"Just enjoy yourself, Lizzie," he said, settling where he lay on his side, passing the joint back to her.

* * *

Two hours later found her standing over him, brandishing the empty paper bag that had contained their tacos at him.

"I am not talking to you until you make a proclamation that you love me more than tacos to... to Harold Cooper!" she announced triumphantly, certain he'd never call her bluff.

"Fine," he shot back, pulling a satellite phone from his bag. He punched in Harold's direct line, long since memorised, and waited for the call to connect. Liz was vaguely aware he was calling her bluff, but the feel of the crinkled brown paper bag held her attention a little too long – it was divine. She came back to the situation as he put the phone down beside him. "What have you done?"

"Exactly as you asked." He used her distraction to wriggle out from underneath her and stand, brushing himself off. "Now," he began, taking the bag from her, "are you coming?"

"Where?"

"I see no tent here and it's going to get very cold out here soon."

"Oh, this was a fabulous plan," she snapped, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Come," he held a hand out to help her up, "there's a motel this way."

"We've eaten the tacos and smoked everything else."

She giggled. "Yeah," she admitted before allowing him to lead her away and into the desert.

* * *

By the time they reached the motel Liz was shivering, even under his jacket. The place was more than a little run down too. He secured them a room which had one double bed and a twin against the wall opposite. Liz flopped down on the bed, feeling like she was floating as she stared at the ceiling.

"How are you feeling, Lizzie?"

"Hmm? Fine," she answered a little dreamily, a smile creeping across her face. Suddenly she turned and lay on her front, propping herself up on her elbows. "What sort of toothbrush do you use?" she asked, it suddenly being the most pressing question she just had to ask.

"Electric." He saw her nose wrinkle. "I know you're not a fan of them."

"No, I'm not," she responded, needlessly adamant. They stared at each other for a few long moments before they both burst out laughing and found themselves unable to stop. Red was crouched over on the floor, tears running down his face, while Liz was curled up in a ball, kicking her feet as she fought to stop laughing over nothing.

When they eventually managed to calm themselves enough, Red came to perch beside her on the edge of the bed; he slipped his shoes off before lying back on the mattress, the tired springs creaking beneath their combined weight.

"Are there any snacks in here?" he asked.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I'm peckish though."

"You'll be more than peckish in a minute." He rose and shuffled over to the mini fridge, opening it to find two Lion bars on the top shelf and a couple of bottles of water. He tossed a bottle over to Liz and brought one of the chocolate bars with him, breaking it in half for them to share. They nibbled at the chocolate and drained the bottle of water. She heaved a deep sigh. "What is it?"

"I don't want to go back to work."

"You've got a couple of days yet."

"Yeah, but what have I got to look forward to? This beats sitting around moping or trying to find a normal guy online." She snorted. "I swear they don't exist."

"What about that guy from last month? What was his name?"

"Richard?"

"Yeah. Richard. Dicky-boy." He chuckled at himself.

"Not so great. We exchanged numbers."

"And?" he pressed.

"We tried sexting," she admitted sheepishly, looking over at him to see his confused expression. "Dirty texts," she expanded. "Anyway, at some point we were talking about fried rice and takeout... so I don't think we know how it works." She elbowed Red when she realised the bed was shaking because he was fighting to control his laughter.

"Oh, Lizzie, you are too much."

"Thanks for being so supportive." She pouted. "Anyway, I should be happy on my own. Maybe I just need a smaller house."

"Perhaps," Red supplied noncommittally.

"Or maybe there is no 'right guy' for me, maybe I'm destined to meet the right cat... or twelve of them? Maybe I should just go live in a swamp or something. You can come and defend it with cups, you're good at tha-" She was cut off by his lips on hers, too stunned and lethargic to react for a few moments. He pulled away just before she could get into it and rested his forehead against hers. He opened his mouth to speak but she pulled him in for another kiss, ignoring the protesting bedsprings as she pulled him down with her.


	6. Day Six

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

* * *

**NO REST**

**DAY SIX**

Lizzie woke slowly, blinking repeatedly to clear her vision. She rolled over to face away from the sunlight pouring in through the window, only to unexpectedly collide with a warm body. Red. He had been softly snoring until she let out a squeak of surprise, causing him to groan and pull the covers up over his head, leaving her barely covered at the other side of the bed. Only when the cool air of the grimy motel room hit her skin did she realise that she was naked. A quick check proved he was in the same state.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

"Good morning to you too," Red's muffled voice came through the duvet.

"Um." She wasn't really sure what to make of the situation, or his tone. He flipped the duvet back off his head and rolled over to face her, the covers winding around him and therefore off of her further. She shuffled closer to him, ignoring the awkward way the mattress creaked with her movements. Eventually she was face to face with him just to keep herself covered. "You look tired," she said dumbly.

"Regretting your actions?" he murmured, leaning away from her to better keep her face in focus.

She thought about it. Hard. She thought the shit out of that question. The little gin bottles – empty – mocked her from the bedside table. She didn't remember a great deal except for sensation... so much she thought it wouldn't end. Euphoria. She could go in for more of that. Work might be an issue. Would be. Would definitely be an issue. Thirsty. Hungry. God. Very hungry. Chocolate. There was chocolate in the mini fridge. Without answering his question, and now only half-mulling it over, she sloughed off what little duvet she had and padded over to the mini fridge, aware that his sound of appreciation at seeing her naked was cut suspiciously short. She turned where she stood and narrowed her eyes at him. Sheepish. Raymond Reddington was many things, but sheepish was not one of them. Then she saw it. The empty Lion bar wrapper on his bedside table. He gathered the duvet around himself at the sight of her darkening features.

"You bastard," she ground out, stomping over to her clothes. "There had better be a café around here."

"There is," he mumbled.

"You're buying me breakfast," she told him as she crossed the room and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her; she hoped his head hurt more than hers, or the gesture would have been entirely pointless. She showered quickly, the hot water only really a slightly warmer version of cold, and pulled her clothes back on after attempting to brush the desert dust off of them. He was waiting by the bathroom door with his own clothes when she breezed out, attempting to affect a nonchalant air. She was so hungry she could quite happily eat him. A flashback hit her. She already did that. She never did that. What was wrong with her last night? Maybe because he hadn't asked for it. Maybe because seeing him writhing and moaning, clutching the sheets and pillow in his fists, made her feel powerful. Or she was out of her mind on weed and gin and dehydrated. Either way, she found she didn't mind too much. So lost was she in her scattered thoughts she failed to realise he'd left the bathroom; only when he took her hand to lead her to the door did she return to the here-and-now. He stopped in the doorway of the seedy little room and turned to face her.

"I'm glad you came here, Lizzie," he said quietly, unsure of her mood.

"So am I," she admitted shyly. Apparently satisfied with her answer he nodded once before continuing out the door.

* * *

Breakfast had her feeling more than a little sleepy, and when they were safely in the air on the way home she dozed on his shoulder. He woke her gently when they were almost back and she didn't feel the need to take her hand out of his. Ignoring that they'd been high in the desert and woke up in a seedy motel, she realised how normal it felt to just sit and hold his hand; she felt no pressure from him, the weight of expectation curiously absent. It was as comfortable as the leather back seat of his Mercedes, she considered before wondering if she was still a little high. Dembe appeared relieved to see them back in one piece, however dusty they were. Red instructed his friend to take them back to her place. She didn't argue because she wanted a bath and clean clothes, but the reality of their situation was starting to sink in and she could really do with another box of tacos to take her mind off of it all.

On their return to her home she thought that Red would just drop her off and was surprised when he retrieved a small holdall from the back of the car before it drove off, leaving them standing in front of the brownstone. Without thinking too hard about it she just led him up the steps and into her house, thanking all that was holy that she had somehow managed not to lose her keys; she considered it wouldn't have been a big deal as Red was more than used to breaking into her house.

* * *

Dinner was a brief affair of mercifully drug-free Chinese takeout and two tall glasses of ice water. They'd recovered enough from the previous day and were now just plain tired, unable to keep their eyes open as they skimmed Netflix for the fourth time; to his credit he hadn't complained once as she made him sit through the latest episode of the Kardashians and two Bourne movies so she supposed it was probably time to call it a night. Liz took his bag and headed up the stairs, enjoying the sound of his footfalls as he followed. Reality could wait a little longer.


	7. Day Seven

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

* * *

**NO REST**

**DAY SEVEN**

"Rise and shine," Red's voice roused her from slumber. She slid her leg to the other side of the bed to find the sheets cool – he'd been up for a while then.

"Go 'way," she mumbled, burying her head further into her pillows and kicking at the duvet, only to flip it off her leg. She flailed the limb with the intention of finding the edge of the duvet to pull it back again but failed.

"Charming," he observed dryly.

"I'm having a lie in." She huffed into the pillow. "We can't all be morning people."

"There's not a whole lot of morning left." He chuckled at her, tucking her foot back under the covers. "I'll leave you to it then," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. His footsteps descended the stairs and she soon dozed off to sleep again, her body needing a serious recharge after the week she'd had with Red.

* * *

When Liz finally surfaced and made her way downstairs she was aware of the silence of the house. It wasn't that Red usually made a lot of noise – not when his mouth was shut, at any rate – but his presence was always keenly felt, and the silence in her home felt empty. She checked for him in every room and out the back window but she knew he wasn't there. In the kitchen she found a note under the lone fridge magnet – a gift Red had brought her from Florence, the Statue of David's penis, she couldn't help but smile every time she looked at it – and the distinctive handwriting told her he had business so, regrettably, had to leave her. He'd be back in a couple of days. She sighed, replacing the magnet with a smirk, and binning the note. It was probably for the best that she didn't see him for a couple of days to give her some space to pull herself back together and get her head in the right place; the one where her mind wasn't in the gutter every time she so much as looked at him. If she found his mouth captivating before her vacation – damn cigars – she was positively addicted after knowing just what he could do with it.

Liz moved out of the kitchen, before she started comparing Red to her fridge magnet, and headed into the living room to make a start on her ironing. The pile was exactly where she'd left it, hidden behind the couch, except it was far neater and in three smaller piles. He had done her ironing. Come to think of it, the kitchen counter wasn't littered with the evidence of dinner from the night before. Ironing and washing dishes. He was a keeper.

Deciding to make the most of her last day off work, she moved with purpose back into the kitchen in search of wine.

* * *

Her cellphone buzzed excitedly off the arm of the couch and clattered to the floor. She made a mental note to buy a rug if this was to become habit. Fully expecting to see Nick's Pizza lighting up the screen, she froze in her awkward position – half on and half off the couch – and frowned on seeing it was in fact Ressler. She sat up and paused the video on her laptop before answering the call.

"Checking up on me?" she answered in a teasing voice.

"Something like that. Mainly making sure you're clean and sober," Ressler responded without missing a beat, his tone as blunt as ever. "How's the end of your vacation going?"

"Well, it's two in the afternoon, I'm on my third glass of wine and I'm watching Lambchop on YouTube. How do you think it's going?" By her standards it was going fabulously.

"I'm not judging you."

"Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Captain America," she said jokingly and, after a quick goodbye from him, the call was ended. She settled back into the couch and pulled the laptop back on to her lap to resume her YouTube binge.

* * *

Her cellphone attempted suicide once again, alerting her to the fact she hadn't moved from the couch for hours and that it was now dark in the house. She grabbed the phone off the floor once more, pleased to see it wasn't Ressler before she answered it.

"Lizzie," her favourite voice greeted.

"Where are you?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips in the dark of her front room.

"Europe."

She rolled her eyes. "Well that narrows it down."

"I'll bring you a present and you can guess then."

"I need more magnets," she advised, eliciting a laugh from him. A bright sound. She wondered if he was ticklish. Wasn't that one of the first things she should've learnt about him after getting him naked? Maybe she had found out, back in the motel. She'd have to find out for sure when he returned.

"If all else fails, I will bring you another magnet."

"Thank you for cleaning up in the kitchen, by the way."

"It's no bother. You need to keep on top of your ironing though," he admonished lightly.

"You ironed my underwear," she stated, a hint of incredulousness in her tone; she had been surprised and a little mortified when she was putting her clothes away to find her most comfortable pair of panties had been expertly ironed. "Was that entirely necessary?"

"I was hardly going to rummage through your underwear drawer, Lizzie. It's where you keep your gun. Besides, you left them lying around"

"Yeah, lying around hidden behind the couch." She smiled despite herself. "So when you're back I take it we're back to business as usual?"

"Of course. Dembe is compiling a file on your next case as we speak." A murmur from beside him. "He says hello, by the way."

"Say hi back from me. So we'll go back to hunting down your Blacklisters and not getting ourselves killed in the process. Perhaps we could fit dinner in there somewhere?" It wasn't a serious question, if she was honest, and she was sure he knew it. Of course there would be dinner, and wine, and perhaps some tacos... but in a really nice hotel. She was done with deserts and motels.

"So that is the only criterion for shenanigans now? Don't die?" Red asked, ignoring her question and confirming her prediction.

She shrugged, a pointless gesture. "It's about the only one I can think of that we have a chance of keeping to."

"Even so," he trailed off, the implication of an answer hanging heavy on the line. He seemed preoccupied all of a sudden.

"Am I not holding your attention?"

"Of course you are. I'm just thinking of what we can do for your next vacation. How about getting away for a while? You would love Old Havana."

She considered his suggestion for all of three seconds, knowing exactly what she'd want to do. "How about we just have a naked taco night instead?"

* * *

Le Fin.

* * *

A/N: A big thank you to everybody who has favourited, followed and/or reviewed. It's been fun to write something more light-hearted for the fandom, and great to know you've enjoyed it.


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